“There, there, child, don’t fret! It was one of those unavoidable annoyances that really amount to nothing yet are so hard to bear. Here, let me swing you up. But we must get rid of those youngsters! Sabbath day or not I shall make it my business so to do at the earliest possible moment. By the way, where are they now?”
For a moment nobody could say, though the Deerhurst wagons waited while the lads searched and all the regular congregation departed to their homes. Then called Mabel from her seat of honor in the landau:
“Dolly Doodles, whilst we’re waiting we might as well eat our lunch.”
For once Mabel’s greediness served her neighbors a good purpose. Mr. Seth promptly replied, with something like a wink in Dorothy’s direction:
“Couldn’t do better. There’s the church well, too, a famous one, from which to quench our thirst. There’s an old saying that ‘Meal time brings all rogues home’ and likely the presence of food may attract our little runaways. Indeed, I’ve half a mind to leave them behind, any way. ‘Pass them on’ to the world at large as that old man ‘passed them on’ to us.”
To this there was protest from every side, even Alfaretta declaring she had never heard of such a heartless thing! But she need not have feared, and Dorothy certainly did not. She knew the big heartof her old friend too well; and producing the basket of sandwiches she went about offering them to all.
Nobody declined although Monty triumphantly exclaimed:
“We haven’t any right to be so hungry for an hour yet, ’cause if the dogs hadn’t come to church we’d have been kept in that much longer.” Then still munching a sandwich he set about to bring water for all, in the one tin dipper that hung by the well, the other lads relieving him from time to time.
They were all so merry, so innocently happy under the great trees which bordered the church grounds, that the Master grew happy, too, watching and listening to them and forgot the untoward incident of the service; even forgot, for a moment, that either twins or dogs existed. Then, after both fruit and sandwich baskets had been wholly emptied and all had declared they wanted no more water, the cavalcade prepared to move; Dorothy begging:
“Can Luna and I sit on the front seat, with Littlejohn driving, going back? See, she’s no longer afraid and I always do love to ride close to the horses.”
“Very well. Here goes then,” answered Mr. Seth gently lifting Luna—wholly unresisting now and placidly smiling—to the place desired while Dolly swiftly sprang after. Then the others seatedthemselves and Ephraim cracked his whip, the landau leading as befitted its grandeur.
Then there were shrieks for delay. From Molly Breckenridge at first, echoed by piping little tongues as the lost “twinses” came into sight. Over the stone wall bordering the road leaped Ponce and Peter, dripping wet and shaking their great bodies vigorously, the while they yelped and barked in sheer delight. Behind them Ananias and Sapphira, equally wet, equally noisy, equally rapturous, and beginning at once to climb into the richly cushioned landau as fast as their funny little legs would permit.
Then came another shriek as, rather than let her beautiful clothes be smirched by contact with the drenched children, Mabel Bruce drew her skirts about her, gave one headlong leap to the ground, and fell prone.
The laughter which rose to the lips of some of the observers was promptly checked as they saw that the girl lay perfectly still in the dust where she had fallen, making no effort to rise, and unconscious of her injured finery.
“She’d better have kep’ still an’ let ’em wet her,” said Alfy, nudging Jane Potter.
“She ain’t gettin’ up because she can’t,” answered Jane and sprang out of the landau, to kneel beside the prostrate girl; then to look up and cry out: “She’s hurt! She’s dreadful hurt!”
Unhappy Mr. Winters set his teeth and his lips were grim. “If ever I’m so misguided as to engineer another young folks’ House Party, I hope——”
He didn’t express this “hope” but stooped and with utmost tenderness lifted Mabel to her feet. She had begun to rally from the shock of her fall and opened her eyes again, while the pallor that had banished her usual rosiness began to yield to the returning circulation. Already many hands were outstretched to help, some with the dipper from the well, others with dripping wooden plateswhereon their luncheon had been packed. Mabel pushed the plates aside, fretfully, explaining as soon as she could speak:
“If that gets on my clothes—they’re so dusty—Oh! what made me—Oh! oh! A-ah!”
Then she began to laugh and cry alternately, as the misfortune and its absurdity fully appeared, and Helena saw that the girl was fast becoming hysterical. Evidently, in their wearer’s eyes, the beautiful frock now so badly smirched and the white gloves which had split asunder in her fall were treasures beyond compute, and Helena herself loved pretty clothes. She felt a keen sympathy in that and another respect—she had suffered from hysteria and always went prepared for an emergency. Stepping quietly to Mabel’s side, she waved aside the other eager helpers, saying:
“I’m going to ride back in the landau, Alfy, please take my place in the cart. Here, Mabel, swallow a drop of this medicine. ’Twill set you right at once.”
Her movements and words were as decided as they were quiet and Mabel unconsciously obeyed. She submitted to be helped back into the carriage and as Helena took the empty seat beside her, Ephraim drove swiftly away.
Thus ignored the dripping twins stared ruefully after the vanishing vehicle and Mr. Seth looked as ruefully at them. But Molly begged:
“Let them go in the cart with us. Alfy’s frock and mine will wash, even if they soil us. One can ride between Jim and me and Melvin and Alfy must look after the other. Let’s choose. I take Ananias. I just love boys!”
“Be sure you’ve chosen one then,” laughed Jim as he rather gingerly picked up one infant and placed it behind the dashboard. He had on his own Sunday attire and realized the cost of it, so objected almost as strongly as Mabel had done to contact with this well-soused youngster. “Say, sonny, what made you tumble in the brook? Don’t you know this is Sunday?”
“Yep. Didn’t tumble, justwent. I’m no ‘sonny’; I’m sissy. S-a-p sap, p-h-i——” began the little one, glibly and distinctly.
“You can’t be! You surely are Ananias! Your hair is cut exactly like a boy’s and you wear boy’s panties! You’re spelling the wrong name. Look out! What next?” cried Molly anxiously, as the active baby suddenly climbed over the back of that seat to join her mate behind. There master Ananias—or was it really Sapphira?—cuddled down on the rug in the bottom of the cart and settled himself—herself—for sleep.
Neither Alfy nor Melvin interfered with these too-close small neighbors; but withdrawing to the extreme edges of the seat left them to sleep and get dry at their leisure. After that the homewarddrive proceeded in peace; only Herbert calling out now and then from his place in the big wagon to make Melvin admire some particular beauty of the scene, challenging the Provincial to beat it if he could in that far away Markland of his own.
“But you haven’t the sea!” retorted Melvin, proudly.
“We don’t need it. We have the HUDSON RIVER!” came as swiftly back; and as they had come just then to a turn in the road where an ancient building stood beneath a canopy of trees, he asked: “Hold up the horses a minute, will you, Littlejohn? I’d like our English friend to say if he ever saw anything more picturesque than this.”
“This” was a more than century-old Friends’ meeting-house. Unpainted and shingled all over its outward surface. “Old shingle-sides” was its local name, and a lovelier location could not have been chosen even by a less austere body of worshipers.
Meeting had been prolonged that First Day. The hand clasp of neighbor with neighbor which signaled its close had just been given. From the doorways on either side, the men’s and the women’s, these silent worshipers were now issuing; the men to seek the vehicles waiting beneath the long shed and the women to gossip a moment of neighborhood affairs.
Mr. Winters was willing to rest and “breathethe horses” for a little, the day being warm and the drive long, and to observe with interest the decorous home-going of these Plain People; and it so chanced that the big wagon, where Dorothy sat on the front seat with Luna resting against her, halted just beside the entrance to the meeting-house grounds. From her place she watched the departing congregation with the keen interest she brought to everything; and among them she recognized the familiar outlines of George Fox, the miller’s fine horse; and, holding the reins over its back, Oliver Sands, the miller himself. So close he drove to the big wagon that George Fox’s nose touched Littlejohn’s leader, and the boy pulled back a little.
“Huh! That’s old Oliver in his First Day grays! But he’s in the grumps. Guess the Spirit hasn’t moved him to anything pleasant, by the look,” he remarked to Dorothy beside him.
“He does look as if he were in trouble. I don’t like him. I never did. He wasn’t—well, nice to Father John once. But I’m sorry he’s unhappy. Nobody ought to be on such a heavenly day.”
If Oliver saw those watching beside the gate he made no sign. His fat shoulders, commonly so erect, were bowed as if he had suddenly grown old. His face had lost its unctuous smile and was haggard with care; and for once he paid no heed to George Fox’s un-Quakerlike gambols, fraughtwith danger to the open buggy he drew. A pale-faced woman in the orthodox attire of the birthright Friends sat beside the miller and clung to him in evident terror at the horse’s behavior. It was she who saw how close the contact between their own and the Deerhurst team, and her eye fell anxiously upon the two girlish figures upon the front seat of the wagon. For a girl the unknown Luna seemed, clad in the scarlet frock and hat that Dorothy had given; while Dolly, herself, clasping the little creature close lest she should be frightened looked even younger than she was.
“Sisters,” thought Dorcas Sands, “yet not alike.” Then casting a second, critical glance upon Luna she uttered a strange cry and clutched her husband’s arm.
“Dorcas, thee is too old for foolishness,” was all the heed he paid to her gesture, and drove stolidly on, unseeing aught but his own inward perturbation which had found no solace in that morning’s Meeting.
Dorcas looked back once over her shoulder and Dorothy returned a friendly smile to the sweet old face in the white-lined gray bonnet. Then the bonnet faced about again and George Fox whisked its wearer out of sight.
“I declare I’d love to be a Quakeress and wear such clothes as these women do. They look so sweet and peaceful and happy. As if nothing evertroubled them. Don’t you think they’re lovely, Littlejohn?”
“Huh! I don’t know. That there Mrs. Sands—Dorcas Sands is the way she’s called ’cause the Friends don’t give nobody titles—I guess there ain’t a more unhappy woman on our mountain than her.”
“Why, Littlejohn! Fancy! With such a—a good man; isn’t he?”
“Good accordin’ as you call goodness. He ain’t bad, not so bad; only you want to look sharp when you have dealings with him. They say he measures the milk his folks use in the cookin’ and if more butter goes one week than he thinks ought to he skimps ’em the next. I ain’t stuck on that kind of a man, myself, even if he is all-fired rich. Gid-dap, boys!”
With which expression of his sentiments the young mountaineer touched up the team that had rather lagged behind the others and the conversation dropped. But during all that homeward ride there lingered in Dorothy’s memory that strange, startled, half-cognizant gaze which gentle Dorcas Sands had cast upon poor Luna. But by this time, the afflicted guest had become as one of the family; and the fleeting interest of any passer-by was accepted as mere curiosity and soon forgotten.
After dinner Mr. Winters disappeared; and the younger members of the House Party disposedthemselves after their desires; some for a stroll in the woods, some in select, cosy spots for quiet reading; and a few—as Mabel, Helena, and Monty—for a nap. But all gathered again at supper-time and a happy evening followed; with music and talk and a brief bedtime service at which the Master officiated.
But Dorothy noticed that he still looked anxious and that he was preoccupied, a manner wholly new to her beloved Mr. Seth. So, as she bade him good-night she asked:
“Is it anything I can help, dear Master?”
“Why do you fancy anything’s amiss, lassie?”
“Oh! you show it in your eyes. Can I help?”
“Yes. You may break the news to Dinah that those twins are on our hands for—to-night at least. I’m sorry, but together you two must find them a place to sleep. We can’t be unchristian you know—not on the Lord’s own day!”
He smiled his familiar, whimsical smile as he said this and it reassured the girl at once. Pointing to a distant corner of the room, where some considerate person had tossed down a sofa cushion, she showed him the ill-named babies asleep with their arms about each other’s neck and their red lips parted in happy slumber.
“They’ve found their own place you see; will it do?”
“Admirable! They’re like kittens or puppies—onespot’s as good as another. Throw a rug over them and let them be. I think they’ll need nothing more to-night, but if they do they’re of the sort will make it known. Good-night, little Dorothy. Sleep well.”
After a custom which Father John had taught her, though he could not himself explain it, Dorothy “set her mind” like an alarm clock to wake her at six the next morning and it did so. She bathed and dressed with utmost carefulness and succeeded in doing this without waking anybody. Those whose business it was to be awake, as the house servants, gave her a silent nod for good-morning and smiled to think of her energy. The reason appeared when she drew a chair to a desk by the library window and wrote the following letter:
“My darling Aunt Betty:“Good-morning, please, and I hope you’ll have a happy day. I’ve written you a post card or a letter every day since you went away but I haven’t had one back. I wonder and am sorry but I suppose you are too busy with your sick friend. I hope you aren’t angry with me for anything. I was terrible sorry about somebody—losing—stealing that money! There, it’s out! and I feel better. Sorrier, too, about it’s beinghim. Well, that’s gone, and as you have so much more I guess youwon’t care much. Besides, we don’t need much. Dear Mr. Seth is just too splendid for words. He thinks of something nice to do all the time.“Yesterday we went to church and so did the dogs and the twins. I haven’t told you about them for this is the first letter since they came and that was just after breakfast Sunday. A crazy man brought them and said he’d ‘passed them on.’ They’re the cutest little mites with such horrible names—Ananias and Sapphira! Imagine anybody cruel enough to give babies those names. They aren’t much bigger than buttons but they talk as plain as you do. They said ‘A-ah!’ and ‘A-A-men!’ in the middle of the sermon and stopped the minister preaching. I wasn’t sorry they did for I didn’t know what they’d do next nor Luna either. They three and Mr. Seth are the uninvited, or self-invited, ones and they’re more fun than all the rest. Mabel fell out the carriage, or jumped out, and spoiled her dress and fainted away.“My House Party is just fine! Monty got stuck in the barn and had to be sawed apart. I mean the barn had to be, not Monty; and not one of us said a word about it.“I’m writing this before the rest are up because afterward I shan’t have a minute’s chance. It’s a great care to have a House Party, though the Master—we call Mr. Winters that, all of us—takesthe care. I don’t know what we would do without him, and what we can without that stolen money. Monty says if he had that or had some of his own, he’d be able to manage without any old Master, he would. That was when he wanted to go sailing Sunday afternoon and Mr. Seth said ‘no.’“Monty’s real smooth outside but he has prickly tempers sometimes; and I guess he—he sort of ‘sassed’ the Master, ’cause he refused to give us any money to hire a sail boat and Monty hadn’t any left himself. But it all blew over. Mr. Seth doesn’t seem to mind Monty any more’n he does his tortoise-shell cat; and he’s a very nice boy, a very nice boy, indeed. So are they all. I’m proud of them all. So is Mabel. So is Molly B. Those two are so proud they squabble quite consid’able over which is the nicest, and the boys just laugh.“Oh! I must stop. It’s getting real near breakfast time; and dear Aunt Betty, will you please send me another one hundred dollars by the return of the mail? I mean as quick as you can. You see to-day, we’re going around visiting ‘Headquarters’ of all the revolution people. There’s a lot of them and they won’t cost anything to see; but to-morrow there’s ‘The Greatest Show on Earth’ coming to Newburgh and Imusttake my guests to it. I really must.“Good-by, darling Aunt Betty.”“Dorothy.“P. S.—I’ve heard that people can telegraph money and that it goes quicker that way. Please do it.“D.“P. P. S.—Mr Seth says that this Headquartering will be as good as the circus, but it isn’t easy to believe; and Melvin isn’t particularly pleased over the trip. I suppose that’s because our folks whipped his; and please be sure to telegraph the money at once. The tickets are fifty cents a-piece and ten cents extra for every side-show; and Molly and I have ciphered it out that it will take a lot, more’n I’d like to have the Master pay, generous as he is. Isn’t it lovely to be a rich girl and just ask for as much money as you want and get it? Oh! I love you, Aunt Betty!“Dorothy; for sure the last time.”
“My darling Aunt Betty:
“Good-morning, please, and I hope you’ll have a happy day. I’ve written you a post card or a letter every day since you went away but I haven’t had one back. I wonder and am sorry but I suppose you are too busy with your sick friend. I hope you aren’t angry with me for anything. I was terrible sorry about somebody—losing—stealing that money! There, it’s out! and I feel better. Sorrier, too, about it’s beinghim. Well, that’s gone, and as you have so much more I guess youwon’t care much. Besides, we don’t need much. Dear Mr. Seth is just too splendid for words. He thinks of something nice to do all the time.
“Yesterday we went to church and so did the dogs and the twins. I haven’t told you about them for this is the first letter since they came and that was just after breakfast Sunday. A crazy man brought them and said he’d ‘passed them on.’ They’re the cutest little mites with such horrible names—Ananias and Sapphira! Imagine anybody cruel enough to give babies those names. They aren’t much bigger than buttons but they talk as plain as you do. They said ‘A-ah!’ and ‘A-A-men!’ in the middle of the sermon and stopped the minister preaching. I wasn’t sorry they did for I didn’t know what they’d do next nor Luna either. They three and Mr. Seth are the uninvited, or self-invited, ones and they’re more fun than all the rest. Mabel fell out the carriage, or jumped out, and spoiled her dress and fainted away.
“My House Party is just fine! Monty got stuck in the barn and had to be sawed apart. I mean the barn had to be, not Monty; and not one of us said a word about it.
“I’m writing this before the rest are up because afterward I shan’t have a minute’s chance. It’s a great care to have a House Party, though the Master—we call Mr. Winters that, all of us—takesthe care. I don’t know what we would do without him, and what we can without that stolen money. Monty says if he had that or had some of his own, he’d be able to manage without any old Master, he would. That was when he wanted to go sailing Sunday afternoon and Mr. Seth said ‘no.’
“Monty’s real smooth outside but he has prickly tempers sometimes; and I guess he—he sort of ‘sassed’ the Master, ’cause he refused to give us any money to hire a sail boat and Monty hadn’t any left himself. But it all blew over. Mr. Seth doesn’t seem to mind Monty any more’n he does his tortoise-shell cat; and he’s a very nice boy, a very nice boy, indeed. So are they all. I’m proud of them all. So is Mabel. So is Molly B. Those two are so proud they squabble quite consid’able over which is the nicest, and the boys just laugh.
“Oh! I must stop. It’s getting real near breakfast time; and dear Aunt Betty, will you please send me another one hundred dollars by the return of the mail? I mean as quick as you can. You see to-day, we’re going around visiting ‘Headquarters’ of all the revolution people. There’s a lot of them and they won’t cost anything to see; but to-morrow there’s ‘The Greatest Show on Earth’ coming to Newburgh and Imusttake my guests to it. I really must.
“Good-by, darling Aunt Betty.”“Dorothy.
“P. S.—I’ve heard that people can telegraph money and that it goes quicker that way. Please do it.“D.
“P. P. S.—Mr Seth says that this Headquartering will be as good as the circus, but it isn’t easy to believe; and Melvin isn’t particularly pleased over the trip. I suppose that’s because our folks whipped his; and please be sure to telegraph the money at once. The tickets are fifty cents a-piece and ten cents extra for every side-show; and Molly and I have ciphered it out that it will take a lot, more’n I’d like to have the Master pay, generous as he is. Isn’t it lovely to be a rich girl and just ask for as much money as you want and get it? Oh! I love you, Aunt Betty!“Dorothy; for sure the last time.”
One of the men was going to early market and by him the writer dispatched this epistle. Promptly posted, it reached Mrs. Calvert that morning, who replied as promptly and by telegram as her young relative had requested. The yellow envelope was awaiting Dorothy that evening, when she came home from “Headquartering” with her guests, and she opened it eagerly.
But there seemed something wrong with the message. Having read it in silence once—twice—three times, she crumpled it in her hand and dashed out of the room scarlet with shame and anger.
“Well, lads and lassies—or lassies and lads, it’s due you to hear all I’ve found out concerning Ananias and Sapphira. I don’t believe that those are their real names but I’ve heard no other. The curious old man who left them here is, presumably, insane on the subject of religion. He appeared on the mountain early in the summer, with these little ones, and preëmpted that tumble-down cottage over the bluff beyond our gates. Most of you know it by sight; eh?”
“Yes, indeed! It looks as if it had been thrown over the edge of the road, just there where it’s so steep. Old Griselda, the lodge-keeper’s wife I live with claims it’s haunted, and always has been. Hans says not, except by tramps and such,” answered James Barlow.
“Tramps? Are tramps on this mountain? Oh! I don’t like that. I’d have been afraid to come if I’d known that!” protested Molly Breckenridge with a little shiver.
Of course they all laughed at her and Monty valiantly assured her:
“Don’t you worry. I’m here.” Then added as an after-thought, “and so are the other boys.”
Laughter came easily that Monday morning and it was Monty’s turn to get his share of it, and he accepted it with great good nature. They were such a happy company with almost a whole week of unknown enjoyment before them, and the gravity of Mr. Seth’s face did not affect their own hilarity. Dorothy had confided to Alfaretta that she had written to Mrs. Calvert for “another hundred dollars” and the matter was a “secret” between these two.
“You, Alfy dear, because you never had, and likely never will have, a hundred dollars of your own, may have the privilege of planning what we will do with mine. That’s to prove I love you; and if you plan nice things—real nice ones, Alfy—I’ll spend it just as you want.”
Sensible, but not too-sensitive, Alfaretta shook her head, and asked:
“Do you know how to make a hare pie?”
“Why, of course not. How should I? I’m not a cook!”
“First catch your hare! You haven’t got your money yet and I shan’t wear my brains out, plannin’ no plans—yet. You couldn’t get up nicer times’n the Master does, and he hasn’t spent a cent on this House Party, so far forth as I know, savin’ what he put in the collection plate to church, yesterday.Come on; he promised to tell all he’d found out about the twinses and all the rest of us is listenin’ to him now.”
So Dorothy had followed to the wide piazza where the young people had grouped themselves affectionately about their beloved Master; who now repeated for the newcomers’ information:
“The old man is the children’s grandfather, on their father’s side. The twins are orphans, whom the mother’s family repudiate, and he has cared for them, off and on, ever since their father died, as their mother did when they were born.”
“Oh! the poor little creatures!” cried Helena Montaigne, and snuggled a twin to her side; while there were tears in Molly Breckenridge’s eyes as she caressed the other.
“I said ‘off and on.’ The off times are when the old man is seized by the desire to preach to anyone who will listen. Then he wanders away, sleeps where the night finds him, and eats what charity bestows. Ordinarily, he does not so much as place the babies anywhere; just leaves them to chance. When they are with him he is very stern with them, punishing them severely if they disobey his least command; and they are greatly afraid of him. Well, here they are! I’ve tried to place them elsewhere, in a legitimate home; but I hesitate about an Orphanage until—Time sometimes softens hard hearts!” with this curious ending Mr. Wintersrelapsed into a profound reverie and nobody presumed to disturb him.
Until Mabel Bruce suddenly demanded:
“Where’s their other clothes?”
The farrier laughed. Mabel was an interesting study to him. He had never seen a little girl just like her; and he answered promptly:
“That’s what neither Norah nor I can find out. Only from the appearance of some ashes in the fireplace of the hut I fear they have been burned. I took Norah down there early this morning, for a woman sees more than a man, but even she was disappointed. However, that’s easily remedied. One of the Headquarters we shall visit is in Newburgh, where are also many shops. Some of you girls must take the little tackers to one of these places and outfit them with what is actually needed. Nothing more; and I will pay the bill.”
“Beg pardon, Mr. Seth, but you will not! I will pay myself,” cried Dorothy, eagerly.
“With what, Dolly dear? I thought you were the most impecunious young person of the lot.”
“I am—just now; but I shan’t be long,” answered the young hostess, with a confident wink in Alfaretta’s direction. To which that matter-of-fact maid replied by a contemptuous toss of her head and the enigmatical words:
“Hare pie!”
“Wagons all ready, Mr. Winters!” announced a stable boy, appearing around the house corner.
“Passengers all ready!” shouted Danny Smith, perhaps the very happiest member of that happy Party. Never in his short, hard-worked life had he recreated for a whole week, with no chores to do, no reprimands to hear, and no solitude in distant corn-fields where the only sound he heard was the whack-whack of his own hoe. A week of idleness, jolly companionship, feasting and luxury—Danny had to rub his eyes, sometimes, to see if he were really awake.
“All ready, all?”
“All ready!”
Much in the order of their Sunday’s division they settled themselves for the drive to Newburgh, where the first stop was to be made, except that Molly Breckenridge declared she must ride beside Dorothy, having something most important to discuss with her friend. Also, she insisted that the twins ride with them, on the wagon-bottom between their feet.
“They can’t fall out that way, and it’s about them—I’ll tell everybody later.”
It was an hour when nobody wished to dash the pleasure of anybody else, so Mr. Seth nodded compliance; saying:
“Then I’ll take this other little lady alongside myself!” and lifted Luna to the place.
This time she showed neither fear nor hesitation. She accepted the situation with that blankly smiling countenance she wore when she was physically comfortable, and the horses had not traveled far before her head drooped against the Master’s shoulder, as it had against Dorothy’s, and she fell asleep.
“Poor thing! She has so little strength. She looks well but the least exertion exhausts her. Like one who has been imprisoned till he has lost the use of his limbs. I wonder who she is! I wonder, are we doing right not to advertise her!” thought the farrier; then contented himself with his former arguments against the advertising and the fact that Mrs. Calvert would soon be coming home and would decide the matter at once.
“Cousin Betty can solve many a riddle, and will this one. Meanwhile, the waif is well cared for and as happy as she can ever be, I fancy. Best not to disturb her yet.”
When the wagon stopped at the door of the old stone Headquarters on the outskirts of Newburgh city, Helena said:
“It will save time, Mr. Winters, if some of us drive on to the business streets and do the shopping for these twins. I’m familiar with this old house—have often brought our guests to see it; so I could help in the errands.”
“And I!” “And I!” cried Molly and Dolly,together. “Our school used to come here to study history, sometimes, right from the very things themselves. Besides—” Here Molly gave her chum such a pinch on the arm that Dolly ended her explanation with a squeal.
So it was quickly settled. Mr. Winters handed Helena his purse, which she at first politely declined to take—having designs herself in that line. But when he as courteously and firmly insisted, she took it and said no more. Helena Montaigne would never carry her own wishes to the point of rudeness; yet in her heart she was longing to clothe the really pretty children after a fancy of her own. However, she put this wish aside, and the three girls with the orphans were swiftly driven to the best department stores the city afforded.
Here trouble awaited. At the statement that one was a girl and one a boy—which her own perception would not have taught her—the saleswoman produced garments suitable for the two sexes.
“Now which shall I fit first?” she asked smiling at the close resemblance of the pair.
“Why, ladies first, I suppose!” laughed Helena and moved one child forward. The other immediately placed itself alongside, and Molly exclaimed:
“Now, I don’t know which is which! Anybody got a ribbon? or anything will answer to tie upon one and so distinguish them. Baby, which areyou?”
The twin she had clasped smiled at her seraphically but made no reply; merely cocked its flaxen head aside and thrust its finger in mouth. At once its mate did likewise, and Helena tossed her hands in comical dismay.
“Oh! Get the ribbon, please! Then we’ll make themspellthemselves and tie the mark on before we forget.”
So they did; and the attendant listened in amusement to the performance; till finding themselves of so much interest to others the midgets began again glibly to spell and—both together. Prancing and giggling, fully realizing their own mischievousness, the babies made that hour of shopping one which all concerned—save themselves—long remembered. Also, if there were the slightest difference between the garments selected for them they set up such a violent protest that peace could only be restored by clothing them alike.
So they emerged from the establishment clad in snowy little suits that seemed as fitting for a girl as for a boy, with pretty hats which they elected to wear upon their backs, and sandals on their stubby feet—the nearest approach to shoes to which they would submit. A big box of suitable underwear was put into the wagon and they were lifted in after it, while Molly begged to walk a block or two till she found a confectioner’s.
Here she expended all her pocket-money, andclimbing back beside Dorothy politely opened her big box and offered it to her friends. Incidentally, to the twins; who stared, tasted, and stared again!
“My heart! I don’t believe they have ever tasted candy! They don’t know what it means!” cried Molly, laughing.
They soon found out. In a flash they had seized the pasteboard box and snuggled it between them. Then with it securely wedged beneath their knees they proceeded to empty it at lightning speed.
“Why! I never saw anything eat like that, not even a dog! You can’t see them swallow!” said Helena, amazed. “They’re getting themselves all daubed with that chocolate, too—The pity!”
“Give it back to me, at once!” commanded Molly sternly, but she spoke to unhearing ears. Then she tried to snatch it away, but they were too strong for her, as anybody who has ever thus contested with sturdy five-year-olds can guess.
“They’ll make themselves ill! and they’ll ruin their new clothes. What will Mr. Winters say? Molly, how could you!” wailed Dorothy. “I wish we’d never brought them. I mean, I wish you hadn’t thought of candy. I wish——”
“You’d hold your tongue!” snapped Molly, so viciously that her friends both stared and Dolly said no more. “I don’t mean to be so horrid, girls, but it is so vexatious! I’d spent all I had and meant it to be such an addition to our picnic dinnerin the woods. I’m ashamed—course—and I apologize. Though I remember Miss Penelope says that apologies and explanations are almost worse than useless. Besides——”
Here Molly paused and looked at Dorothy most meaningly; but whatever she meant to say further Dolly stopped by a shake of her head, adding:
“Now it’s my turn to apologize, Helena dear, but there’s something we two have in mind that we want to spring on the whole lot of you at once. Will you forgive and wait?”
“Surely. But—those children! I hope we’ll get back to the others soon and that Mr. Winters will have more influence with them than we’ve had.”
It proved that he had. One glance and word from him and the twins cowered as if they expected cruel blows, and without the slightest resistance permitted him to take away the nearly empty box.
“Doesn’t look very tempting now, I think. Best throw it away, especially as I had already provided sweeties for the crowd. Now, lads, westward ho! It’s nearly dinner time again, and I believe it’s being with so many other hungry youngsters makes me one too!” cried the Master, stepping to his place and saying with an air of authority which nobody disputed: “Hand over the twins. I’ll take them under my care for the rest of this day!”
The Headquarters which they were next to visit, and on whose grounds they were to picnic, was borderedby a stream that just there widened into a little lake. As they approached the place, cramped by their long ride, most of the lads left the wagons to finish the distance on foot.
“Ever hear the story of General Lafayette and this creek, Melvin?” asked Herbert. “Good enough to tell and not against your side either.”
“Go on,” said Melvin, resignedly. “I fancy I can match any yarn of yours with one of my own, don’t you know.”
“Can’t beat this. In those days there was no bridge here, not even a footbridge. One had to ford the stream. The General was going to a party at that very house yonder and was in his best togs. Course, he didn’t want to get his pumps wet so he hired an Irishman—more likely a Britisher—to carry him over. Half way over—a little slip—not intentional, of course!—and down goes my General, ker-splash! Just this way it was! Only it’s turn and turn about, now. Young America totes old England and——”
“Lads, lads! That footbridge is unsafe! See! The plank’s gone in the middle—Oh! the careless fellows!”
Having been a boy himself the farrier was prepared for pranks; and the good-natured badinage between Herbert and the young Canadian had aroused no anxiety till now. He had been near enough to hear Herbert’s recital of the Lafayetteincident but had merely been amused. Now—Oh! why didn’t they keep to the wide, safe bridge, that wagons used!
Already it was too late even for his warning. Herbert had only meant to catch up the slighter Melvin, scare him by pretending to drop him, but in reality carry him pick-a-pack safely to the further shore. He considered himself an athlete and wished to show “young England how they do things in Yankeeland,” and with a shout he darted forward. Headlong he came to the spot above the water where no foothold was—a space too wide for even his long legs to cover, and all the watchers shivered in fear.
But from his elevation on Herbert’s back, Melvin had already seen the chasm and as if he had been shot from a catapult—he cleared it!
“Hip, hip, hooray! England forever!” yelled Frazer Moore and every other lad in the company added his cheers.
Then Melvin, from his side the chasm, doffed his cap and bowed his graceful acknowledgments for his country’s sake. And at sight of that the girls cheered, too, for Herbert had already regained his feet in that shallow stream and they could see that he had taken no hurt beyond a slight wetting.
“Never mind that. He’ll dry off, same as the twins did,” laughed Molly Breckenridge. Which he did, for the sun was warm and his plunge hadbeen a brief one; and in fact this “little international episode,” as Monty called it, but served to increase the jollity of that day.
Such a day it proved; without cloud or untoward incident to mar its happiness; and as they wandered here and there, inspecting for the last time the historical spot which had given them hospitable shelter, none dreamed of any mishap to come. Even the twins were tired enough to behave with uncommon docility, beyond continually removing from one another the ribbon which should have designated Ananias from Sapphira.
“They’ve changed it so often I’ve really forgotten which is which, but I’m sure—that is I think—I’m really positive—that the hair with a kink belongs to Sapphira! After all, that isn’t such a dreadful name when you say it softly,” said Molly.
“I think this is the loveliest old house I ever saw. I’d just like to stay here forever, seems if. The funny roof, so high up in front and away down, low almost as the ground behind. The great chimney—think of standing in a chimney so big you can look straight up, clear through to the sky!” murmured studious Jane Potter.
“’Tisn’t as big as the Newburgh one, and they haven’t any such Hessian boots, though it does have a secret staircase and chamber,” answered Jim who, also, was greatly interested in the ancientbuilding. “But come on, Janie; they’re getting ready to leave.”
“In just a minute. Just one single minute, ’cause I shan’t ever likely come here again, even if I do live so near it as our mountain.”
Home through the twilight they drove, for kindly Seth couldn’t abridge for his beloved young folks that long, delightful day; and they were ready to declare, most of them, that even the circus to come could hardly be more enjoyable than this day’s “Headquartering” had been.
It was then, on that happy return, that Dorothy had found the telegram awaiting, and had caught it up with a loving thought of her indulgent Aunt Betty. Then her happiness dashed as by cold water she had flown out of the room and shut herself in her pretty chamber to cry and feel herself the most unhappy girl in all the world.
Twice had Norah come to her door to summon her to supper before she felt composed enough to go below among her guests.
Over and over she assured herself that none of them should ever know how badly she had been treated. Nobody, of course, except Alfaretta, and the first thing that girl would be sure to ask would be:
“Have you caught your hare?” In other words: “Did she send the money?”
But in this she did poor Alfy great injustice. Ithad needed but one glance to tell her—being in the secret—what sort of an answer had come to Dorothy by way of that unexplained yellow envelope. Well, it was too bad! After all, Mrs. Betty Calvert must be a terribly stingy old woman not to give all the money she wanted to her new-found, or new-acknowledged great niece! Huh! She was awful sorry for Dolly Doodles, to have to belong to just—great aunts! She’d rather have Ma Babcock, a thousand times over, than a rich old creature like Dolly had to live with. She would so!
Therefore it was not at all of news from town that warm-hearted Alfaretta inquired, as Dorothy at last appeared in the supper room, but with an indifferent glance around:
“Why, where’s Jane Potter?”
Where, indeed, was good Jane Potter! The least troublesome, the most self-effacing, staidest girl of them all.
“Didn’t she ride home withyou?”
“Why no. I supposed she did withyou. That is—I never thought.”
“But—somebody should have thought!” cried Dorothy, diverted from her own unhappiness by this strange happening.
“Yes, and that ‘somebody’ should have been myself,” admitted Mr. Seth, after question had followed question and paling faces had turned toward one another.
“Are you sure she isn’t in her room?” asked Helena.
“Sure as sure. I thought it funny she didn’t come to clean herself, I mean put on her afternoon things; but I guessed she was too tired, and, anyway, Jane never gets mussed up as I do,” answered Molly Martin, tears rising in her eyes.
The Master rose from his unfinished meal.
“Then we’ve left her behind and the poor child will be terrified. I’ll have one of the work horsesput to the pony cart at once, and go back for her. I’d like one of you lads to go with me. I might need somebody.”
Jim rose and Herbert, and, oddly enough, Mr. Winters nodded to Herbert; adding to Dorothy:
“Have a bottle of milk and some food, besides a heavy wrap sent out to the cart. She will have missed her supper.”
“But you and Herbert are missing yours, too. I shall send something extra for you two and mind you eat it. I—I’m sure you’ll find Jane all right only maybe frightened,” said Dorothy, doing her utmost to banish anxiety from her friends, though she felt troubled enough in her own mind. If it had been any other girl but Jane, the steady!
However, there was the long evening to get through, even though the rescuing party made their best speed. Many miles stretched between the old mansion and this with the distance to cover twice; and all the time there lay on the hostess’s heart the burden of her own personal grief. But she mustn’t think of that. She must not. She was a Calvert, no matter what Aunt Betty said. A gentlewoman.
Only yesterday Helena had explained that a gentlewoman, “in society,” had no thought save for the comfort of others. Well, she was in “society” now, and—She almost wished she wasn’t! She’d rather have been a poor little girl, unknowing her own name, who’d never dreamed of being an heiressand who’d have been free to run away and hide and cry her eyes out—if she wished!
So she put her best efforts to her task of entertaining and a jolly evening followed; though now and then one or another would pause in the midst of a game and ask:
“Ought we to be carrying on like this, while we don’t know what’s happened to Janie?” Then the spirit of fun would sway them all again; for, as Alfaretta practically put it: “Whether we laugh or cry don’t make any difference to her. Time enough to solemn down when we find out she’s hurt.”
They were rather noisily singing the old round of “Three Blind Mice,” with each particular “mouse” putting itself into its neighbors’ way, so that the refrain never would come out in the proper order, when it was caught up by lusty voices in the outer hall and Mr. Seth’s deep tones leading.
“They’ve come! They’ve come—and it must be all right, else they wouldn’t sing like that!” cried Molly Martin, infinitely relieved on her friend’s and room-mate’s account; she and the sedate Jane being as close chums as Dolly and the other Molly were.
“The Campbells Are Coming,” whistled Herbert merrily, and with the air of a courtier led the embarrassed Jane into the midst of the circle. She jerked her hand away with the reproof:
“Don’t be silly! I’ve made trouble enough without acting foolish over it.”
She seemed so completely ashamed of herself that Dorothy pitied her and hastened to put her arm about her and say:
“Why should you think of trouble to anybody else since you’re—alive?”
“Alive! Did you think I might be dead, then? That makes it worse, still. I was never in the slightest danger. I was only just a—dunce.”
“You couldn’t ever be that, Jane Potter!” cried Molly Martin, enthusiastically embracing the restored one from her other side.
But Jane shook herself free from the caresses of both and calmly explained:
“Since you’ll all want to know I may as well tell just how thoughtless I was. I wanted to find that secret staircase Jim had told about, and the hidden chamber above it, under the roof. I couldn’t at first. It led out of the paneled chamber, he said, where all the side walls looked like doors and only one of them would move. Finally, after I’d tried ’em all, and that took some time, I slid one open. It was the secret stair; nothing but a close sealed cupboard, so little that even I could hardly squeeze up it. It wasn’t a regular stair, only tiny three-cornered pieces of board nailed in the back angles, first one side and then another. They are far apart and some are gone. I thought I’d never get up thething, but I hadn’t stayed behind to be worsted by a sort of old grain-chute like that.”
“Weren’t you scared? Didn’t you feel as if some enemy were after you?” Molly Breckenridge interrupted to ask.
Jane coolly sat down and glanced contemptuously at the questioner. All the company felt a trifle disappointed by Jane’s manner. They had expected a more exciting revelation.
“What should I be afraid of? I haven’t any enemies, as I know.”
“But it must have been very dark in such a place, a shut-in box like that,” protested Helena, who as well as the others thought Jane might have made more out of her adventure.
“No, it wasn’t, not there. The panel-door let the light through from the big room where there are no blinds or curtains. All the light there was—only dusk, you know—came through. It was at the top, after I’d climbed off the top step into the hidden chamber that it got dark—black as night. Because, you see, I accidentally hit my foot against the trap-door and it fell shut. That’s all. I ain’t dead, you see, and there’s nothing to be sorry for except the trouble I gave Mr. Winters and this boy. I’ve told them I was sorry, so that’s all there can be done about it now. Anyway I’ve learned something, and that is how a prisoner must feel, shut up in a box like that.”
A sort of groan came from the further side of the room where the Master had sunk into a great chair as if he were utterly weary. Then he said:
“I’m glad Jane is so philosophical. I think she doesn’t know just how dangerous her situation was. The ‘hidden chamber’ under the roof was nothing but a closely sealed box, without any possible ventilation. Nobody could have lived long shut up in that space, breathing the vitiated air. It was well we found her, and you must all thank God for a tragedy averted. Nor would I have thought of looking there for her if Jim hadn’t remembered talking with her about the place and told Herbert just as we started. He’d inspected it himself, had read of it, yet even I who had visited that old mansion many times didn’t know of its existence.”
“Oh! I wish you’d told us all, Jim Barlow, when we were there! I think it was selfish mean of you not to, when we were sight-seeing on purpose,” pouted Jolly Molly.
“Wish ’t I had, now, since you all seem to care. I didn’t think then anybody—I mean—I didn’t think at all, except for myself,” frankly answered the lad, which made them laugh again and so restored their ordinary mood.
“Well, it’s about breaking up time. I move that Dorothy C. give us a bit of music from her violin,” said the Master, smiling upon his beloved child.
She smiled in return but it was such a wan little attempt that it pained more than pleased him. Something was sorely troubling sunshiny Dolly and he wondered what, not knowing the purport of her begging letter to Mrs. Calvert nor what the telegram had said. He feared she was still grieving about the lost one hundred dollars and could sympathize in that, for he also grieved and puzzled. He made up his mind to ask her about it at the first opportunity; meanwhile, there was the obliging girl already tuning her violin and asking from her place beside the mantel piece:
“What shall it be—when I’ve done squeaking this way?”
“Yankee Doodle!” “God Save the King!” cried Herbert and Melvin, together; and immediately she began, first a strain of one, then the other, till even the mischievous petitioners cried that they had had enough of that medley and would be glad of a change.
One after another she played the selections asked, watching with curiosity which all the others shared, the strange effect her music had on Luna. The waif now seemed to consider herself entirely one of the Party—the “Silent Partner,” Danny called her; for though she never spoke she had learned to keep close to some one or other of the young folks, and so to avoid that big room where Dinah had placed her earlier on her visit. Shetook no part in any of their games but watched them with that vacant smile upon her wrinkled face, keeping out of the way of being jostled by cuddling down in some corner just as the twins did. Indeed, there was a close intimacy between the three “uninvited”; the little ones promptly realizing that no matter how mischievous they had been and how much they deserved punishment, they would be unmolested in Luna’s neighborhood. She paid scant attention to them, no more than she did to anything, except gay colors and music. She slept much of the time, and just as the twins did; cuddled upon the floor or lounge or wherever drowsiness had overcome her. Yet let even the faintest strain of music be heard and she would instantly arouse, her eyes wide open and her head bent forward as one intently listening; and the strangest part of this attraction was that she dumbly realized the sort of melody she heard.
At the jumble of the two national airs she had smiled, then frowned, and finally looked distressed. It was this expression upon the dull face she watched that had made Dorothy give over that nonsense, even more than the protests of her mates; and now as Molly begged:
“Something of your own making-up, Dolly Doodles!” she let her bow wander idly over the strings, until a sort of rhythmic measure came toher; fragments she knew of many compositions but bound into a sheaf, as it were, by a theme of her own.
It was a minor, moving melody and slowly but effectually touched the heart of every listener. Melvin leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, picturing to his sometime homesick soul a far-away Yarmouth garden, with roses such as bloomed no other where and a sweet-faced, widowed mother gently tending them.
Helena pondered if she did right to be in this house, a guest, with her own home so near and her parents thus deserted of both their children, and unconsciously she sighed.
James Barlow and Jane Potter, after the habit of each, drifted into thought of the wide field of learning and the apparent hopelessness of ever crossing far beyond its boundaries. “The worst of studying is that it makes you see how little bit you can ever know;” considered the ambitious lad, while Jane regretted that she had not been left in peace in that old house from which she had been rescued and so have had the chance of her life to learn history on the spot.
More or less, all within the sound of that violin grew thoughtful; but it was upon poor, “unfinished” Luna that the greatest stress was wrought. She did not rise to her feet but began to creeptoward the player, inch by inch, almost imperceptibly advancing as if drawn forward by some invisible force.
Presently they all became aware of her movement and of nothing else, save that low undercurrent of melody that wailed and sobbed from the delicate instrument, as the player’s own emotions ruled her fingers.
Even the Master sat erect, he who made a study of all mankind, touched and influenced beyond himself with speculations concerning this aged woman who was still a child.
“Music! Who knows but that was the key to unlock her closed intelligence? Oh! what a pity that it came so late! But how sad is Dorothy’s mood to evoke such almost unearthly strains! It’s getting too much for her and for that helpless creature. I must stop it;” thought the farrier, but didn’t put his thought into action. Just then he could not.
“Makes me think of a snake charmer I saw once,” whispered Monty Stark to Littlejohn.
“Ssh! Luna’s cryin’! Did you ever see the beat? Alfy Babcock, stop snivellin’ as if you was at a first class funeral!” returned master Smith, himself swallowing rather hard as he happened to think of his mother bringing in her own firewood.
Luna had reached the spot directly before Dorothy and was on her knees looking up with a timid,fascinated stare. Her small hands were so tightly clasped that their large veins seemed bursting, and great tears chased one another down her pink, wrinkled cheeks. Her close cropped head was thrown back and her back was toward the windows over which no curtains had been drawn. In her gay frock, which firelight and lamplight touched to a brilliant flame color, she must have appeared to one beyond the panes like a suppliant child begging pardon for some grave misdoing.
Suddenly Alfaretta screamed, and Molly Breckenridge promptly echoed her; then bounded to Dorothy’s side and snatched the violin from her hands.
“Stop it, Dolly, stop it! I couldn’t help doing that, for in another minute you’d have had me and—and everybody crazy! What made you——”
“Why, Alfaretta! Whatever is the matter? Why do you stand like that, pointing out into the night as if you’d seen a ghost?” demanded Jane Potter, going to her schoolmate and shaking her vigorously. “Don’t yell again. It’s—it’s more frightful to hear you than it was to be locked up in that hidden chamber, with a spring-locked trap shut between you and liberty.” Which was the only admission this self-contained young person ever gave that she had once known fear.
Alfy gulped, shivered, and slowly answered:
“So I did. It—was a ghost. Or—or—just the same as one! A—lookin’—a lookin’ right throughthe window—with his face—big and white—He—he wore a hat——”
“Wise ghost! Not to cavort around bare-headed on a damp September night!” cried Monty, as much to reassure his own shaken nerves as those of the mountain girl.
“Dorothy’s music was so strange—weird you might say—that she’s made us all feel spooky; but we have no apparitions at Deerhurst, let me tell you,” said Herbert, consolingly.
“Huh! You may say what you like, but that one apparited all right. I seen it with my very own eyes and nobody else’s!” retorted Alfaretta, with such decision and twisting of good English that those who heard her laughed loudly.
The laughter effectually banished “spookiness” and as now poor Luna sank down upon the floor in her accustomed drowsiness, her enwrapt mood already forgotten, the Master lifted her in his strong arms and carried her away to Dinah and to bed. But as he went he cast one keen glance toward the windows, where nothing could now be seen—if ever had been—save the dimly outlined trees beyond. Yet even he almost jumped when Jim, having followed him from the room, touched his arm and asked:
“What do you s’pose sent old Oliver Sands to peekin’ in our windows?”